


Connor's Weakness

by Adiaphory



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Implied Relationships, M/M, Plot Twist, Unrequited Love, unexpected ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5938864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adiaphory/pseuds/Adiaphory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor stays up all night, plagued by his sinful and homoerotic dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Connor's Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a few years ago in high school instead of doing work. It made sense at the time.

Connor couldn't believe how perfect of a specimen he was. The man he couldn't get out of his mind... Tall, slender, so much like himself; driven, creative, so very perfect in every way.

Connor often found himself lost in his beautiful blue eyes every time they were together. He could get lost on those eyes, imagining what could never be.

These feelings were wrong. It was a sin to be with another man, let alone a man he was so close to. What would Ma say if she knew? What would Murphy say if he ever found out Connor's sick feelings?

_'He'd beat me senseless,'_ Connor thought to himself. He was positive Murphy wouldn't even give him a chance to explain these feelings... These feelings he felt deep inside him, these feelings he couldn't argue.

Love.

Not brotherly love, not love Jesus himself shared and advocated. This was a love deeper than that, more meaningful and painful than anything he could ever endure. He wished he could endure it with his soul mate, whom he knew he could never fess it up to.

_'Jesus, what's wrong with me?_ ' Connor would ask himself late at night, puffing on a cigarette. He'd glance over to his sleeping brother, motionless and silent for once. Murphy's pale skin glowed in the moonlit apartment, only covered by his bunching boxers and a thin sheet wrapped up in his legs.

Connor held his crucifix close to his heart. _'God, you want us to love each other as our own, like a brother... But why did you have to make me love him like a man should love a woman? Why did you give me feelings I'll be condemned to hell for having? I dream every night of his warm embrace, of his lean figure on me as we make the angels cry. Why, God? Why do I love the man I was never meant to feel this for?'_

The blonde laid on his side, away from Murphy, his heart heavy with conflict between his faith and his feelings. He drifted to sleep, unable to get him out of his mind.

Another night passed with a sinful wet dream fresh in his mind and his boxers. Connor sat up in bed, sweaty and full of guilt; he'd have to visit confession next Sunday mass.

The dream was intense. He could almost feel the slender man's hands firmly grab his ass, like a phantom limb. He could almost feel the slight pain mixed with pleasure as he was stretched open by his lover. Connor tried to forget the dream before his pants tent could grow any higher under the thin white sheet that lazily draped his lap.

"Connor?" He jumped at his name, quickly pulling his knees up to hide his shame from the brother he had thought was still asleep.

"M-morning, Murph." He stammered.

"You're sweaty."

"Yeah... You know, just a, uh... a nightmare." He bit his tongue at the lie, hoping Murphy would accept it and not probe for details.

"Was it bad? You were panting."

"S'nothing..."

Murphy blinked, but just accepted the reply. "Aye, Conn?"

The blonde looked anxiously at his twin. "Yeah, Murph?"

"Why were you screamin' Greenly's name?"

Connor fell flat on his back, filled with panic of being found out _. 'No,_ ' he thought. _'Murph'll think I dreamt he died, I did say nightmare--'_

"It... It wasn't a nightmare, was it?"

Connor looked up at his twin, whose gaze fell flat on the blonde's erection, which caused the sheet to look like a circus tent.

"Shit."


End file.
